I’m laying on the long, brown couch that’s pressed against the living room wall. Its part of a large, L-shaped contraption that I can run across over and over, my feet sinking into the cushions. I barely span one a half of those buttoned topped things.
My dad is looking through his numerous CD collection. He takes a minute, going through several different drawers of cases. He fishes out what he was looking for. At the top of the lightly colored wooden entertainment center, above the drawers filled with VHS tapes and the monster Zenith TV, is a black CD player. One disc only. Basic digital read-out. Large buttons. I love to make it open and close over and over. He puts the CD in and adjusts the green-lit dials of the amplifier. He moves them out the odd pattern I put them, the sound coming through much clearer than my imaginary mountainscape of vertical dials.
I hear high notes being picked on an electric guitar. I know this song. My dad with his big, bearded smile, walks over to me and picks me up into his arms in a sudden swoop. He dances with me, leaping around the small, unstable floor of the living room. I’m laughing up a storm. I hug him tightly as the lyrics croon from speakers. He hugs me back. I’m happy, a pure and innocent happy. His songs and his music just add to the moment.
Things are just better when his music is playing.